


A Trip to Walmart

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: In which Josh and Tyler go shopping and realize things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> translation into русский available: [A Trip to Walmart](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5300991) by [тушенка_из_душонки](https://ficbook.net/authors/1709827)

"Do you think you could possibly go a single fucking day not being yourself?"

Tyler is currently freezing to death. His chin rests on an empty shelf while his toes curl inside his shoes, the cloth as worn as the hoodie in charge of keeping his body heat contained as he stretches and stretches toward the back of the freezer. Two inches of his forearm is exposed to the harsh elements during his struggle to grab the last box of DiGiono's four cheese pizza. "Pardon?" he groans, because he thinks he heard something, but isn't sure what.

He's still standing on the bottommost shelf, kicking aside Red Baron, Totino's, and Tombstone while he gets his knee on the next shelf. Bare skin presses to the hard plastic. Tyler hisses. He thinks these are Josh's jeans.

From behind him, not a repeat, but something new—"Tyler, you're seriously pissing me off right now."

And, again—"Pardon?" because both of Tyler's forearms are now freezing. The snot dripping from Tyler's nose, courtesy of his cold, feels almost alien. He's shivering, fingertips numb, and yet they grab the box of pizza. With a weak and tired coo in form of a celebration, Tyler pushes himself from the freezer, stumbling and smiling far too much. "Got it," he says, and drops the pizza in the empty shopping cart, the box hitting the metal and causing Tyler to blink.

Josh doesn't blink. He's leaned against the handle bars, all of his upper body weight on it as his legs hang free, toes of his own shoes on their tips, remained in place from Josh pushing the cart with feet skidding along the smooth gray flooring. His weight shifts, though, and he's standing on his feet now. Tyler doesn't like it. Josh is too tense, his jaw set, the veins visible on his hands as they wrap around the rail of the shopping cart. He looks as if he might say something—and hopefully Tyler hears it this time.

However, Josh stays quiet, and Tyler slowly turns on his heel and continues down the aisle, passing the sleeve of his hoodie under his nose. The dark material hides all the bad and gross that leaked. Only Tyler, Josh, the woman they just passed, and the little dancing Haring people know of the stain's existence.

After a brief lapse, the cart begins its squeaky trek with Josh as the captain. He's still a bit aggressive, alternating between stomping and dragging his feet. Tyler wants to ask what's wrong, if Josh had indeed said something when his head was stuck in the freezer, but he instead consults the mental shopping list he drew up on the way out of their apartment. He chews on the end of his hoodie's sleeve as he does this, eyes squinty.

"Pancakes," Tyler declares, and he stops in the middle of the aisle in his attempt at figuring out just where the chocolate chip pancakes are located. It's an abrupt realization, and Josh sends the buggy's frame into Tyler's ass. Josh sighs, and Tyler, with sleeve in his mouth, moves toward another section of freezer. Thankfully this time, what Tyler seeks is on a lower shelf and aplenty.

"Stop," Josh says, and Tyler pauses, box of pancakes on their way into the cart.

"Did you want something?"

"Yeah." Josh is silent after this, though, and Tyler furrows his brow and says, "Okay," really quiet, a whisper almost, and gently lowers the pancakes the rest of the way into the cart. He waits for Josh to continue with whatever he wanted to say, but there's nothing—there's _nothing_ —and Tyler is back to furrowing his brow and wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Okay," Tyler repeats. "What's on your mind?"

Josh shrugs. He pushes the buggy, and Tyler follows. There's a throbbing behind his eyes, crawling to the center of his forehead, and he sniffs roughly, popping his ears in the process. Josh rolls his eyes, and Tyler, once more, with feeling, sighs, "Okay." They continue down the aisle, Josh pushing, Tyler on his left, back to chewing on his sleeve.

From the corner of his eye, Tyler watches Josh watch him. Josh's gaze is glassy, his lips pouty, and Tyler says, "What's on your mind?" He grabs a case of Coke when they pass it and carefully sets it inside the cart.

"Nothing," Josh says, offhandedly. He's hurt, Tyler can tell, and Tyler feels awful, more so now than ever.

"It's not _nothing_." Tyler frowns, like a child, and he slides over to Josh's side, upper arms together. "We—"

Josh retreats as if a shock went through his body and turns the buggy, going into the next aisle. Tyler follows, scuffing the floor with his shoes. "Dude."

Staring at Josh's back, Tyler sees him tense up even more than he had been before, if that's even possible. Concern lines Tyler's face. He touches Josh's arm, and as expected, Josh shakes it away, but he also rolls his eyes, and Tyler hadn't expected that.

"Dude," Tyler whispers. He fears he might break into tears in the middle of canned vegetables. "You know you can talk to me."

"Oh, yeah," Josh says. He says it genuinely, not like he's denying it. He knows Tyler will always be there for him, no matter if Tyler is sick with snot on his sleeve and possibly freezer-burnt knees. Despite this, Josh doesn't confess to anything else. He grabs a can of corn and shakes it, rather angrily.

Tyler allows that. "So, what's up, man?" He takes a step up and holds onto the sides of the buggy, hanging on in preparation of Josh pushing again. They've done this every time they've gone shopping together, sometimes like this exactly and sometimes vice versa. The end result is them entering a staring competition with all hope of staying quiet out the window.

Tonight is different. Josh pushes the buggy, and he stares at Tyler, and he doesn't laugh. Tyler's face falls, and he doesn't laugh either. At the next stop, at the chips, Tyler gets down, and Josh throws bags of Doritos into the cart.

Tyler picks at a pimple on his cheek. "We forgot milk. I'll go back and get some."

Josh nods to show he heard. He's grabbing more junk food.

Tyler doesn't run, but he moves quickly. If he's away from Josh for too long, he begins to resemble a kid who's lost their mom. Shaky, about to cry, Tyler never thinks to text Josh to ask where he's at if he isn't where Tyler left him. Tyler's much like this right now, but he blames that on his cold. He needs to grab a few cans of soup while they're here.

The shakes start to set in when Tyler rounds the chips aisle to find Josh gone, but they vanish once he spots Josh wheeling down with paper towels and cans of soup in the buggy. "I got chicken noodle and tomato and… chicken noodle." Josh smiles.

Tyler places the gallon of milk next to the soup. "What would I ever do without you, Josh?"

It's back—the tension, the set jaw. Josh is upset. Tyler tries again. "Josh, what's wrong? Are you sick? I'm sorry if I got you sick. Shouldn't have crawled into bed with you yesterday, huh?"

Josh's grip is tight. "Yeah."

They walk. One of the wheels doesn't turn as fast as the others.

Josh is staring at Tyler again. Tyler nudges Josh with his hip, about to ask to take over, but at the first touch of hip to hip, Josh leaves, that electric shock, and Tyler actually tears up in the middle of the cereal aisle. Josh doesn't pay attention. He's dumping a box of Waffle Crisp and Cheerios into the cart, on top of the Coke.

"Josh, please." Tyler's voice is broken, and it makes Josh look at him with more emotion than he's ever had during their shopping. Josh appears guilty even, standing there in his ripped jeans, sweatshirt, and beanie. His jaw is crooked from where he's gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

"What?"

"Is it… school? Work? Did something happen?" Tyler doesn't know where to begin. "Is it me? Did I do something?"

"Class is fine. Work's fine. It's just—" Josh knocks Tyler aside and takes the buggy. "Not here," he says, hushed, and they walk, walk, walk, going down aisles and finding a safe space in the form of coloring books and shitty romance novels. Tyler chews on his sleeve. His nose runs. Josh scratches his eyebrow and trembles. He's nervous, his voice untrustworthy. "U-uh, um." He doesn't look at Tyler, not straight away. "Tyler, you know I'm not, like… I'm…" He doesn't finish, but Tyler knows the end.

"Dude, yeah. Me, too."

Josh looks at Tyler now. His eyes are wide, open, vulnerable.

Tyler asks, "Is that it? Josh, you know—"

"There's this guy," Josh says, and he's not looking at Tyler anymore. He's scratching his eyebrow again, the skin around it turning red.

Tyler takes Josh's wrist and moves his arm to hang at his side. Josh keeps it there, eyes trained on the design on Tyler's chest. Lips parted, no words come out. Tyler frowns and thinks of the worst.

"Do I need to beat someone up?" Tyler shows his fists.

Josh cracks a smile, loses it. "It's nothing. Stupid, really. I shouldn't bother you with it." He leans his weight on his elbows, his posture relaxed, his head low as it hangs between his shoulders.

"It's okay." Tyler touches the middle of Josh's back. This time, there's nothing Josh deems wrong enough to break free.

Two girls enter the aisle and flip through books. Josh closes his eyes. Tyler says, "Maybe you could text it to me if you can't say it."

"Maybe."

The girls leave, though, and Josh says, "So, there's this guy, and I like him a lot, and I don't know if he likes me back, and I don't know what to do."

It comes out quickly. Tyler replays it over and over in his head before he can form an intelligent reply. As it turns out, it might not be intelligent at all. "Well, have you thought about telling the guy?"

"Of course I've thought about telling him, Tyler, what the hell."

Tyler frowns.

Josh pushes forward, guiding the buggy down a seasonal aisle. This time of year calls for an awkward mix of leftover Halloween decorations, along with a handful of Thanksgiving, and a load of Christmas.

"Have you?" Tyler asks.

"Have I what?" Josh squeezes the foot of a Rudolph toy and listens to it sing.

Tyler shakes his head. "Does he like guys?"

"Yes."

"It would suck to have a crush on a straight guy. At least you know he's into dudes."

Josh gives a Frosty toy the same treatment. "I guess."

A young mom picks out stockings with her wife. Their toddler sits in their buggy and munches on a donut teething ring. They stare at Josh and Tyler, drool all over their hands and chin. Tyler takes this moment to wipe his nose with his sleeve.

"Fucking stop," Josh announces, exasperated and tired.

The moms and toddler pause. Soon, the toddler giggles, and the moms continue browsing, the occasional glance passing between them.

"Pardon?" Tyler asks, but he knows what Josh meant.

But he doesn't because Josh is saying, "What gives you the right to treat me like this, Tyler? You're so damn nice and cool, and you take time out of your day to see if I'm doing okay, and all the fucking flirting—I don't—I—Tyler, this—it's like I'm getting fucking whiplash from—" Josh is trembling. The Frosty goes back on the shelf. Josh doesn't take anything else. "I can't do this anymore, Tyler."

"Do what?" Tyler's heart races. He blames it on his cold. "Josh, I don't understand where this is coming from. You're my best friend. Of course I—what can't you do anymore? If you need help, I can give you phone numbers and—"

One of the women covers her mouth with her hand while the other goes to the toddler and plays with their toes.

Josh says, "No, Tyler. Not… not that."

"Then, _what_? What's wrong?"

But Josh shakes his head. He's returning to the buggy, feet dragging, and Tyler follows suit, shivering in his hoodie with the stains on the arm. Their walking takes a turn for the worst, if it could get even worse. Josh is quiet, and Tyler is, too. A heavy weight, akin to an elephant hangs between them, and Tyler, for once in his life, begins to question his relationship with Josh.

Josh and he had always been in tune with the other, finishing each other's sentences, having compete conversations without the need to open their mouths, and generally being inseparable. They met online, on some Facebook group of incoming freshmen and now, four years later, they're living together, in their own apartment _off campus_. Up until now, Tyler thought nothing could tarnish their bond. Was this the tipping point? The tears rise to high levels. Tyler is grateful Josh is ahead of him and unable to see them run down his cheeks.

Tyler can't relish in this for long. Josh spins, lips parted to say something, but he stops, shopping cart and all, and frowns. "Tyler, God."

With a different sleeve than the snot, Tyler dabs away the tears. He sniffs.

"Do you need to be alone?" Josh asks, and Tyler doesn't know why, but he nods. "Okay." Josh furrows his brow. "Go get some bread, yeah? And I'll be in the toys."

"Toys," Tyler says, with another wipe of his eyes. "Got it."

They go to opposite ends of the department store. Tyler almost wishes Josh had been the one to volunteer to get bread, seeming as how close it is to the main entrance. Tyler is shivering again, tugging on the sleeves to cover his hands as he plucks a loaf of bread from its stand and lets it hang by his side. In his pocket, his phone vibrates with a text. More likely than not, it's his mother, considering how Josh is in the same building as him. But in the virtual world, Tyler and he are not far apart. Still, despite it all, Tyler checks the message and stands in the deli to read it. It takes a few attempts to get through it, and even then, Tyler doesn't understand fully what's going on.

It's Josh, of course it is, with two words: _It's you_

Tyler tilts his head from side to side, eyes scanning and rescanning the text. His cold might be making it difficult for him to understand the context of the message, or Tyler just might be that fucking clueless.

_It's you_

_It's you_

_It's you_

The yellow plastic of his phone's outer shell sounds cheap when it hits the ground. Tyler doesn't realize he's dropped it until his fingers begin to lightly shake around nothing but air. Strangers' eyes on him, Tyler lowers himself, picks up his phone, and makes his way toward the toys. He is feverish, sick to the stomach, and he truly does not want to face Josh right now. Rejection, Tyler knows, is the worst feeling in the world.

He sees Josh's back first. Tyler makes sure his phone is out of sight before making his appearance. "Hey," he says, and places the bread delicately in the cart.

Josh is messing with a Pikachu stuffie, moving its little arms. "Hey." He looks at Tyler, face falling. "Dude, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Don't feel good," Tyler mumbles.

They don't talk about the text Josh sent. If it were up to Tyler, he would say he dropped his phone—not a lie—and it turned off, and he didn't have the patience to wait for it to restart—also not a lie, but a lie at the same time. But Josh doesn't ask, not when spots dance in Tyler's vision. Josh makes Tyler lean against the buggy, as support. Not before dropping the Pikachu in their cart, though. Tyler smiles at that. The act of smiling forces the ache in his stomach to vanish. Josh is talking. Tyler blinks.

"Do we need anything else?"

"Toothpaste," Tyler says, and they go that way, neither of them cursing the disorganized array they decide to embark for their shopping.

"So," Josh says, not meeting Tyler's eye, "did you get my text?"

Tyler relays the excuse he cooked up moments prior. "Dropped my phone when I got it out of my pocket. It turned off, and I couldn't be bothered to turn it back on." His feet swing as he lifts himself off the floor, elbows balancing on the hand rails of the buggy. "What'd it say?"

Josh's expression doesn't change. He compares two toothpaste boxes. "Why don't you turn back on your phone now?"

Reluctantly, Tyler returns his feet to stability and pulls his phone from his pocket. It seems it had actually shut itself off at the fall, so Tyler's wait isn't fabricated. His phone goes on top of the loaf of bread as both he and Josh stand there and wait.

Waiting is something Tyler doesn't like. The acids in his stomach are battling. There's nothing Tyler wants more in the world than to completely disappear.

Josh's text is read, and Josh sees that. He stares at Tyler, and Tyler doesn't stare at him. He stares at that message, at their previous messages, exchanged when they were in class, discussing what next-generation console they should get for Christmas. They still haven't committed.

That's beside the point.

Josh says, "Well?"

Tyler knows now what Josh's text means, but that doesn't make Tyler feel any less bad. It makes him feel worse, like he's a dead man walking. Tyler's mouth opens, and it closes, opens, and closes, and he chokes out, "Josh, I—"

And Josh goes, " _I knew it_ ," in such a defeated tone it breaks Tyler's heart.

"Josh—"

Josh throws a box of toothpaste said to protect enamel into the buggy, and then he's off, going down the aisle, turning a corner, disappearing like Tyler wishes he were doing. Tyler thinks he might start screaming at any moment. He wills himself to instead card his fingers through his hair, still damp in the back from his shower an hour ago, and pulls, twisting the locks until he thinks they might slide from the follicle. And then, Tyler rubs his eyes, wipes his nose, and uses his index finger to tap a reply to Josh, probably with too much force. He may need to go back and exchange this loaf of bread with one that isn't imprinted with a phone.

_look, dude, i care for you a lot. i really do, but you just can't_  
_we're in Walmart  
_ _you can't just drop that on me in Fucking Walmart_

Tyler remembers Josh's phone charger is going haywire, so Tyler pushes that way, not experiencing enough vitality to use the shopping cart as a scooter. He doesn't get any looks, and Josh reads his messages and doesn't reply.

Tyler overthinks it. This is complicated, this is… life-changing, and Tyler honestly expects he's going to break into tears again. "Stop crying," he mumbles, and slides a charger from its hook. There are no raving reviews on the back, but it's cheap and has a long cable, and thus Tyler tosses it into the cart. His phone remains silent on the bread.

 _i'm scared_ , Tyler sends, and Josh reads it immediately.

_Where are you?_

Josh assumes Tyler is scared because he can't find Josh.

Tyler is tired. _electronics_

It doesn't take long for Josh to reappear. "Hey," Josh says, hands raised to tug his beanie over his ears. "I'm here, yeah? I'm here. You're okay."

Stepping backwards, Tyler lets Josh take the buggy. Josh looks better, not at all like he had his heart broken. He's faintly smiling, passing Tyler his phone in one hand while the other picks up the phone charger trapped between the bags of chips. "You…" he says, and shakes his head. "Headphones, too, right? Yours broke last weekend."

They're walking. Tyler stares at their feet. "Thought about just ordering some off Amazon."

"I can. Tonight. You need to rest."

"Gotta write a paper tonight."

"You can take a night off. Or I can do that, too. You need to rest."

Tyler studies Josh, and his heart flutters as if it grew wings. This time, Tyler understands the reason behind the butterflies. And he's scared. Tyler is so scared. He's holding his phone in both hands, his fingertips curling, scratching at the plastic. There's a lump in his throat, his heart fluttering, fluttering, racing, and he knows if he were to open his mouth, he'd stutter. Tyler is a child and desperate for his mother. He clings to the crook of Josh's elbow and drops his phone in the process. He steps on it, but it doesn't matter. Josh is looking at him, brow furrowed, before he's bending over, picking up Tyler's phone, and it's right here, bubbling over, that lump melting, and Josh is _amazing_ , and Tyler musters all his courage to say, "I like you, too."

In the way of traffic, people maneuver their carts around Josh and Tyler, faces mere blurs as they scowl and travel further and further away. Tyler is shaking so damn bad Josh needs to stick Tyler's phone in his front pocket himself. Tyler catalogues those warm fingers pulling up the hem of his hoodie, sliding his phone into his front pocket. Josh's warm fingers have made their home on Tyler's skin before—his neck, arm, on the back of his knee when Josh pulled him closer during a movie. Josh had smiled and said, "So far away," and weaved his fingers through Tyler's toes.

Tyler is sick. Josh is staring at him with that same nonplussed expression. Words etch his face, but they don't reach his mouth. Is he embarrassed? A faint blush colors his cheeks. His bottom lip gets sucked into his mouth as his teeth gnaw. No, Josh isn't embarrassed. He's inflamed, ready to strike a match, ready to catch fire. Josh grabs the buggy and pushes, redirecting their path to the other side of the store. Tyler has to jog to catch up with him.

"Josh, where are—what else do we need?"

But Josh doesn't say anything. It's as they're swerving into the toothpaste aisle and continuing onto the back wall that Tyler registers just what exactly caused Josh's exhilaration.

" _Josh_ ," Tyler repeats, hushed now, "I'm _scared_."

Josh turns to face Tyler, puzzlement aside because he gets it. He gets it. "We don't have to, to, to, uh, get this stuff now. We can wait, like, until we're _old_."

"No, it's not that." Tyler sniffs and tries not to gaze at the different boxes and containers. "I mean, it kinda is that, but not totally."

"So, get some, then? To be safe?"

Tyler's nod is stunted. Josh pitches a box of condoms—ribbed—and lubricant—warming—into the buggy. It lands somewhere near the Pikachu stuffie. The sight brings a smile to Tyler's face.

"That it?" Josh asks. It's a general question. They really should start writing their shopping lists.

"Oh, yeah."

This late at night, only a few registers are open, but Josh and Tyler's preferred method of checking out are the self-checkout machines. Hell most of the time, they enjoy themselves. Tyler scans, getting his germs on everything, and Josh wraps them all up with a sappy bow. Composure settles between them. Tyler wonders if things would have been different if neither of them disclosed this new revelation. Ultimately, Tyler decides, everything would still be the same. They would still laugh when the machine tells them there's an unknown object in the bagging area, and they would still lean on each other as Tyler slides his debit card across and punches his code into the keypad.

Nothing seems off at all when the condoms and lube pass from Tyler to Josh, and nothing seems particularly off at the way Josh pushes the cart from the store with Tyler's arm through his.

Tyler hooks their arms together and finds this action alone isn't romantic, and yet, Tyler would have never considered it platonic either. Josh turns the standards on its head, and Tyler is all for that.

He doesn't want to let go once they reach his car. Josh tells him to let go and to get inside where it's warm. "You're sick," Josh says, as if Tyler needs a reminder. A reminder is all Tyler needs for his head to begin pounding.

"Can you fix me some soup when we get home?" Tyler shoves his hand into Josh's jacket pocket and touches a glove.

"Yeah." Josh smiles. "Get in the car, you idiot."

Tyler kicks his feet on the dash and waits for Josh to climb inside. He's managed to scavenge in the back seat to find a beanie he's so sure is actually Josh's. It's on his head when Josh gets into the car, and Josh's smile is bigger than any smile Tyler has ever seen.

"Hey," Josh says, and he leans forward, the seats creaking. "Lemme—"

He doesn't finish. Tyler seals the space between them, Josh's lips matching with Tyler's top lip while Tyler catches Josh's bottom one. Lazy, Tyler is still reclined in his seat, hands nestled into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, all his weight on an elbow as he kisses Josh. Josh's connection to Tyler's top lip only proves a bad decision on both their parts, since Tyler's nose is running, and Josh gets a mouthful of snot rather than that of chapped skin. Still, it's a pleasant endeavor. Tyler wouldn't mind doing it again.

"Josh," he whispers, "I really am scared."

Josh weaves his hand between Tyler's thighs to pull open the glove compartment. He wads a few tissues in his fist and uses them to gingerly wipe Tyler's nose. "What for, Ty?"

It's not a pet name, though Tyler's body treats it like one. "I don't want to lose my best friend."

Josh pauses at that. Shoulders slumping, softly sighing, Josh murmurs, "I'm still gonna be your best friend. Getting you into bed is just a side benefit."

"I don't know." Tyler gives a standoffish shrug. "Maybe I actually have the flu, and you're gonna contract it and _die_."

"Nonsense." Josh kisses Tyler's cheek. It's the most natural act in the world. "I got a flu shot."

Tyler laughs at that. Josh starts the car. "Always good to have protection."

Josh rolls his eyes. "Oh, my God."

Tyler turns on the radio with his foot and replaces it on the dashboard. "I'm glad you told me, Josh. I really appreciate it."

A smile, Josh begins backing out of the parking spot. "I'm glad you told me, too, Tyler."

On the drive home, Tyler swings his legs into the car seat with him and scoots over, stretching over the console, his temple to Josh's shoulder. And Josh smiles again, and Tyler closes his eyes.


End file.
